


This once was an island

by belantana



Category: Wire in the Blood
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-05
Updated: 2009-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-23 15:17:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belantana/pseuds/belantana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carol and Tony on a Christmas Eve stakeout. Set towards the end of series 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This once was an island

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the marvellously patient omnomnom17 for the prompt, and the eagle-eyed delgaserasca for the beta. Originally posted [@eljay](http://belantana.livejournal.com/40614.html).

She was eight years old. The lesson was measuring distance by wrapping a piece of string around a globe of the world, then transferring it to flat against a ruler. England to China: eight-and-a-quarter inches. The curve of the earth unfolded, the end points pinched between fingernails to hold her place.

 _I could make it less_ , she thought to herself, _I could make it closer._ If she had a metal skewer, she could go right through the centre of the earth. Six inches, maybe five.

She held the skewer in her hand and drew her arm back. It punctured the thin metal of the globe with a noise like a gunshot. Freezing air rushed out of the hole. Had she come out at the right point on the other side? She searched with her fingers, shivering. The centre of the earth was meant to be hot, not cold.

"Thought you might like some company."

Carol woke with a start, blackness all around, something digging painfully into her hip. She made out the profile of a man backlit by flashing lights. He held the car door open a fraction, ducking his head in.

" _Jesus_ , Tony." She shifted in her seat. The night wind was so cold she felt her teeth clatter together involuntarily. The flashing lights composed themselves into the shape of reindeer, galloping across someone's front lawn.

He hesitated, still leaning in the door. The interior of the car was in shadow - he hadn't realised she'd been asleep.

"Well come on, shut the bloody door."

He did so, clumsily, juggling a collection of plastic bags. She bit back the urge to tell him to be quiet. The night air was straight off the North Sea and she'd parked deliberately upwind; no one would hear them.

"Doesn't this thing have a heater?" He rubbed his hands together, making the bags rustle, and something inside clunked. Carol suddenly felt too close. Her hands were still clenched, from the dream.

"Last minute present shopping?" she asked dryly.

"What? Oh. No, I stopped home on the way and picked up some supplies. Paula said you were in for a long night."

"Yep," she confirmed flatly, choosing not to mention the bargain she'd made with the heater. (You go, I go.) She was surprised he'd planned ahead. Tony's usual idea of thinking things through was checking the traffic before crossing the road.

There was silence for a bit. Tony adjusted the bags at his feet, but didn't take anything out.

"So, who are we waiting for?"

She pointed out the house; dark, curtains drawn. "The Grinch who stole Christmas."

"Our friend with a penchant for carving genitalia on church doors?"

"If one turns up on Christmas morning, the Assistant Chief Constable's press conference is going to out-rate the Queen's message."

"But he can't spare the manpower for a proper stakeout?" Tony asked incredulously.

"On the contrary. He's blown half of next year's overtime budget."

"Where are... Ah. The churches?"

Carol nodded, even though it was too dark for him to see, rolling a crick out of her neck. "Every one in a ten mile radius. I told him that this was our guy, and we'd have a far better chance catching him at the start of his night than we would guessing which endpoint he's going to choose, but the boss is not interested in taking risks."

"Are you sure it's him?"

 _Here we go_ , she thought. She'd already spent an hour arguing this through with everyone miserable enough to be on the Christmas Eve shift, and she'd lost, obviously.

"Eighty percent," she conceded. "I learned from the best." It came out more accusatory than she'd intended.

Tony seemed satisfied. Another long silence. The heater clicked ominously, but held out.

"Well," said Tony brightly, "I have gingernuts, pork pies, and some of those little Christmas cakes left over from the station party, but judging by the weight I think they're going to be less like cakes and more like rocks. Oh, and I couldn't find a thermos but I brought a kettle for tea."

He showed it proudly, slopping water. Carol felt a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Anyone else and she'd think they were taking the piss for her amusement.

"Where were you planning on plugging it in?"

He looked around, as if a power source might be hiding within a cord's length of the car. "Do you think they'll notice if we unplug the reindeer?"

"Santa might get lost."

"You're right, you're right. There's nothing to be done. Christmas rocks and cold tea it is, then."

Even the thought of cold tea sent her shuddering. She pulled her coat closer, remembering her dream, cursing the heater. "Don't you ever dream about going somewhere else, Tony?"

He took so long to answer that she wondered if he'd heard, or if she had actually spoken. She felt disconnected, edgy. She hadn't dreamed of her childhood in years.

"Somewhere else?" He frowned, giving serious thought. "Actually. No. There is nowhere else I'd rather spend Christmas Eve than in a car with you."

"Oh, stop it."

He turned on the radio, suddenly brightening. "Carols, Carol!" It was the service from King's, but it must be a repeat, this late. "Were you in the school choir? Bet you were. Bet you made up rude versions to sing under your breath."

He started humming Silent Night, and Carol didn't have the heart to tell him that the hymn on the radio was God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen. Yes, she'd been in the school choir, second from the left in the back row, dishonourable discharge for creative licence in things she thought would be joyous to the world.

She pulled her scarf tighter around her neck and made a grab for the biscuits.


End file.
